


sleep in heavenly peace

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas, F/M, House Lannister, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three first Christmases in the Lannister twins' lives.  Written for jaimecerseilibrary's Christmas Challenge on tumblr.</p><p>Rated E for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother

 

Cersei had always liked the idea of God.  She liked that there was someone else _besides_ Jaime whose job it was to listen to her, even if the someone else was an invisible man with a long beard.  God always listened, too, like when she asked to win first place in the pony show and then she did, and when she asked if she and Jaime could kiss under the mistletoe while Mother and Father were out at a party and then they did it a _lot_ of times and Jaime even stuck the tip of his tongue into her mouth.

But now Mother was gone and Father wouldn’t go to church anymore, not even when Cersei asked nicely and explained that church meant she could wear nice new dresses and her party shoes that made very important-sounding noises on the stone floor.  Father just said that if she wanted new dresses, he’d buy her new dresses, but he’d never set foot in a church again.  And it seemed like God had heard Father, and now he was mad at Father and at Cersei, too.  When Cersei begged for Mother to come back, _please_ , _(I_ _’_ _ll be good, I won_ _’_ _t pinch Tyrion, I won_ _’_ _t bother Father while he_ _’_ _s working, I won_ _’_ _t hide Jaime_ _’_ _s soccer ball when Addam asks him to come out and play)_ it didn’t work.  God didn’t listen, and Mother was still gone.

Tonight was Christmas Eve and Mrs. Farman and Mrs. Hetherspoon had come over earlier to help Aunt Genna decorate and bake cookies, the way Mother used to.  Stupid fat Jeyne twirled around in an ugly pink dress and bragged about how she was going to Midnight Mass tonight so she was wearing her _new dress_.  Cersei scooped up a handful of cookie dough when no grownups were looking and dropped it on the ribboned front of Jeyne’s dress. She blinked her eyes and smiled at the grownups when Jeyne screamed.  It wasn’t _fair._

It wasn’t fair.

The big hand on Cersei’s clock was on the 12 and the small one was on the 10 and it was very dark outside.   _Maybe if Jaime and I show Father we_ _’_ _re ready to go_ , Cersei thought, _he_ _’_ _ll take us_.  She ran into Jaime’s room to find him already in bed.

“I’m trying to go to sleep so Santa will come sooner,” he explained.

Cersei jumped on top of him.  His knees were bony.  “Ow!” they both said at once, but then they laughed.

“Put on your nice shirt,” Cersei said.  “And a tie.  We’re going to Mass.”

“Did Father say that?” Jaime asked.  He pushed his gold curls off his forehead.  Cersei leaned down, pressing her own forehead to his.

“No,” she said.  “I did.”

It was hard for Cersei to pin up her hair all straight and neat like Mother always did, but Aunt Genna’s hands were rough so she did it herself without even asking.  She had a new dress, too, a red one with a skirt that almost touched the floor.  When Cersei slid it over her shoulders, she felt like a _queen_.

She met Jaime in the hallway and they walked to Father’s study, hand in hand.

Father looked like he was doing work, even though he was in his bathrobe.  He was always working.  He stared at the twins with his eyebrows raised.

“What are you two so dressed up for?” he asked.  “Jaime, I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“We’re ready to go, Father,” Cersei explained.

“To go where, exactly?”

“Midnight Mass,” Cersei said.  “We’re waiting for _you_ , Father.  Aunt Genna can stay with Tyrion, can’t she?”

“You could go in your bathrobe,” Jaime said, and giggled into his fist.  Cersei elbowed him in the side.  Father was going to think Jaime was making fun of him, and Father did _not_  like to be made fun of.

Father put his head in his hands for a moment and Jaime and Cersei stared at each other.  When he spoke again, his voice sounded almost sad.

“Get changed,” he said.  “No one is going to Midnight Mass.”

“But--!”  Cersei was all ready to stamp her feet, but Father held up his hand, and Jaime shook his head a little.

“Your mother is gone,” he said, his green eyes cold as he stared into theirs.  “God is just a story people tell.  Nothing will bring her back.  Do you understand me?”

Cersei wouldn’t cry in front of _anyone_ except Jaime, never again.  Instead she squeezed his hand so hard her bones hurt.

“You’re never too young to learn,” Father continued.  “Nothing in life is easy.”

“May we be excused?”  Jaime asked after what felt like forever.

Father nodded and they ran.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight,” Jaime said once they were out in the hall.  “Do you wanna read from the King Arthur book?”  

But Cersei wasn’t ready to go to bed.  She was _angry_.  Father was lying.  There _was_ a God, there had to be.  Father was just angry because he was sad.  Wasn’t he?

“Let’s pray,” Cersei said.

“Huh?"

“Before we go to bed.  Come on.  We have to do it.  It’s almost midnight.”

And that was how Cersei found herself watching the clock above the fireplace tick closer to midnight on the first Christmas Eve without Mother, kneeling next to the giant Christmas tree with Jaime.  Mini candy canes in their plastic wrappers crunched under their knees anytime they wiggled.

“Do you know what prayers to say?” Jaime whispered.

Cersei realized she did not.

They kissed when both hands were on the 12, instead. Just like Cersei had prayed for back when God listened. 


	2. Joffrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said the rating was for later chapters? Here we gooooooo.

Babies didn’t give two shits about holidays, of course.  Joff woke up hungry at 3 AM every night no matter what; he was more punctual than many of Father’s business associates.  Cersei found that she didn’t mind the time she got to spend with Joff, sitting and feeding him by nightlight, and tonight she felt strangely energized.  Maybe it was that it was her first Christmas with her baby boy.  Maybe it was that she was already aching between her legs from sharing the huge guest bed with Jaime, crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows and all.  Maybe it was the ghosts of Christmases at Casterly past, she thought, staring at the Christmas tree that Aunt Genna had fussily decorated the way she always had since Cersei and Jaime were small.  But she felt calmer staring at the mantelpiece and family stockings and lion statues draped with wreaths and ugly Christmas flowers than she’d ever remembered feeling.

She heard soft footsteps behind her then and spun around.  

“How’s the geneticist’s nightmare?” Jaime asked, padding through the arched doorway into the living room.

“Stop _calling_ him that.”  Cersei said it through gritted teeth, not like that would do any good.  Jaime just grinned.  She slapped him across the face and felt her insides do a slow burn.  Her inner thighs would be sticky soon.  “He’s your _son_ , you asshole, not a _nightmare._ _”_

Jaime wrapped his arms tight around her back in response.  She did the same to him.  His familiar nighttime scent was a cocktail in its own right: a whiff of sex, a hint of sweat, the tail end of the day’s Old Spice.

“He wakes you up every night,” Jaime murmured.  “You’ve got dark circles under your beautiful green eyes.  Seems like a nightmare to me.”

“How are you awake?” she asked, breathing in Jaime and the pine needles behind her.  “You were sleeping like a rock when I got up to feed Joff.”

“Mmmmm,” he said, burying his nose just above her ear.  “The bed got cold, so I knew you were gone.”

“I didn’t know you were such a fucking _poet_.”

“I don’t know how you do it when you’re back in the city at Robert’s.  Sleeping in that big bed all by yourself.”

“Better by myself than when _he_ _’_ _s_ in it,” Cersei said, and shivered even though Jaime’s bare chest was still warm from sleep and he’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants before coming downstairs.

Jaime’s hands slid up her sides, slowly.  “I don’t want to talk about him.”  He cupped her breasts and began tracing over her nipples through her shirt with his thumbnails.  She threw her head back, pleasure running through her in beads of heat.  Her hips rubbed against Jaime’s, seeking friction.  He was hard, as he always seemed to be.  It was as though they were still teenagers, still little kids playing house with a perfect baby asleep upstairs.  They’d never grow old.  They’d stay golden forever.

She had nothing on under her red tank top.  When he tugged down the neckline til her nipples poked out, hard in the chill air, her knees buckled as soon as his lips touched her skin.  He caught her with one of his firm arms.  His tongue wrapped warm and wet around her nipple.  He didn’t even need to suck.  Just the light brush of his tongue was enough to make her eyelids flicker so fast everything around her—tree, lights, ornaments, Joff’s overstuffed stocking, _everything_ —blurred. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, tugging at the blond waves of hair that bobbed and glowed in the warm light.  “Jaime, I’m going to fall—”

Jaime slid one hand into her hair and guided her head up to meet his, sliding the other abruptly underneath her leggings.  Her legs spread automatically as his fingers glided over her slippery heat and then crooked up and into her.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her lips.  “So wet.”  His words were half-drowned by their kiss and by the hypnotic fullness of his fingers moving in and out of her.

“Surprised?”  Cersei said.  She grabbed at his cock through his sweatpants, wrapped her fingertips tight around the head.  The noise he always made when she did this was one she had practically memorized.  She never tired of hearing it.

They somehow made it over to the couch, hands still on each other, kissing so hard Cersei felt her lips begin to ache.  She almost bit at Jaime’s to taste his blood, _their blood_ , before remembering that Father and Genna and Kevan and Tyrion and the whole endless brood of Lannisters were just a floor away.

“No,” she gasped as Jaime pulled her down onto his lap, “not _here_ , what if—”  She pulled at his hair.  His eyes were so big in the light.  He looked at her, already flushed and open-mouthed, like she was the only thing in the world.  “Someone could—”

“No one will, sweetling.  Sweet sister,” Jaime murmured.  He wiggled his sweatpants over his ass; he wiggled Cersei’s leggings down too.  She clutched Jaime’s face in her hands, her fingers nestling into the slight hollows of his cheeks, as her hips slid forward, seeking her twin, knowing how to join them, make them _whole_ —She sank down onto Jaime’s cock, keeping her eyes open the way she liked, watching pleasure flood the planes and shadows of her twin’s face.  She laid her hands on his waist, laid her head on his bare chest.  She’d move when they felt like it.  Right now she wanted to soak in the completion.  The victorious sense of being _whole_.

“My Jaime.”  And she kissed his mouth, rolled her hips, tasted his words, tasted the way he whispered her name against her lips like it had more meaning than any other word he knew.  One of his hands knotted in her hair.  He tugged at her shirt with the other, raking his nails over the bare skin below her neck.  It was soft enough not to leave marks but sharp enough to hurt.  She threw her head back, hissing from a place deep within her.  Her hips sped up.  She rode his cock hard now, hard enough to leave her hurting deep inside for days, just the way she liked.  Only Jaime was allowed to hurt her.  Only her other half, she thought, could cause her pain and mean no harm.

“You like it, don’t you?”  Jaime said, out of nowhere.  “That we had a kid.  That the whole world knows we fuck, even though they just don’t realize it—”

Cersei tried to slap him.  He grabbed her wrist and then they were falling clumsily to the floor.  Something crunched underneath her back.  Fucking candy canes, fucking Lannister Christmas cheer, she loved Christmas, she loved every moment of it.

“You’re a sick fuck, Jaime Lannister,” Cersei breathed, wrapping her left leg around his back so his cock could stretch her deeper, sweeter.  “A sick, sick—”

“But you _do,_ I know it, I know how you are,” Jaime said.  He ran his thumb over her lips and then skimmed that hand down, down, over her nipples and stomach and through the golden curls that she’d never get rid of because she thought they made her look _fierce_  and finally his thumb was moving in soft steady circles on her clit.  Her mouth formed a silent _oh._ Her hips rose to meet his thumb and the insistent thrum of his cock sliding slick in and out of her that worked together to make them whole, whole, one, one, _one_.

“You’re so proud,” Jaime continued.  “That I’m the only one you _love_.  I’m the only one you _want_.”

“Jaime, _please_ ,” she gasped.  He grabbed her thigh, crooking her leg tighter around him.  His thumb circled and circled, bringing her so close she thought she was going to go crazy, like she’d pull out all his hair or scream his name so loud the whole house heard.

“Please _what,_ sweetling?”  He was close too; she could tell from the way his hands held her tight, the way his hips were starting to lose their rhythm, his cock pumping into her in fast, short, quick thrusts.

“Please…I want…”  She tugged at his wrist.  If only his thumb would move _faster_.  _Goddamn it, Jaime, please_ …

She came with his mouth covering hers, his name released from her throat and through his lips, her body light to the point that she felt nothing at all but the spots where they had melded together, which felt the lightest and rightest of all.

Jaime stayed inside her as they came down together.  He nestled his head in between her breasts and kissed at them softly.  Every once in a while she felt a little shudder run through him, a little jolt pushing his hips just the tiniest bit forward.  Sometimes when he stayed like that, buried inside her, he’d get hard again.  There was always the guest room, Cersei thought.  The longer they stayed downstairs, the more likely they’d get caught.  She was surprised Lancel wasn’t poking his head over the upstairs railing.  The freak was just a kid but he always knew when something was going on.

But the lights were warm and the room smelled of Christmas and Jaime and sex and _them_ and their beautiful baby boy slept upstairs, and Cersei had never been this happy at Casterly, _never_ , not since after Mother—

She kissed Jaime gently on the lips.  He began to weave his fingers through her hair, stroking it softly.

“Merry Christmas,” they both whispered.

They didn’t even have to say _I love you_ , Cersei thought.  Those were the unspoken words behind everything they did.

When Jaime finally carried her up the dark stairs to bed, he stopped to kiss her under the arched doorway of the living room, their foreheads pressing together.

“Remember when Mother used to put mistletoe up,” Cersei said, trying to keep her voice quiet as possible in the echoy, drafty hallway.

“Fuck mistletoe,” he said.  “I’ll kiss you wherever we want.”


	3. Father

The smell of Christmas at Casterly made Cersei want to take up smoking, even though the thought of getting a permanently puckered mouth and yellow stains on her teeth made her feel physically ill.  Better sweet musty nicotine than all these scents that made her remember that the last time she’d ever see her father had been looking down on him in his coffin.

 _No one ever looked down on Tywin Lannister when he was alive,_ Cersei thought as she hung another one of Aunt Genna’s ornaments on the tree.  _They should have put his coffin on a pedestal.  Even Father_ _’_ _s rotting flesh was worth more than anyone else at that funeral._

Something flew over her head and shattered against the wall.  She jumped.

“Joffrey!”  Genna yelped.  “That belonged to your _great-grandmother_.  Go get a broom, young man.  Right now.”

Cersei’s heart dropped so fast she felt sick to her stomach at the way Joff looked standing there, his arms crossed and his boxers showing over the waistband of his jeans that were tight enough to be Myrcella’s, with his $200 headphones around his neck and a smirk on his face.  She remembered what Jaime whispered over and over again til Joff got old enough to be able to understand if he overheard.  _Geneticist_ _’_ _s nightmare, geneticist_ _’_ _s—_ No, she wouldn’t think those things.  Not now.  Not ever.  Joff needed all the love he could get, even if no one thought so but herself.  What could compare to a mother’s love, anyway?  Her boy, her beautiful boy.  

“ _You_ sweep that shit up, I’m busy trying to get reception on my _phone,_ _"_ he said.  “Why did you make me come out to this place, it’s a shithole.”

“Family traditions are important, Joff,” Cersei said, trying to keep her voice sweet and steady.  Genna had no business talking to Joff like he was trash, no matter what it was he had said or done.  He might have been Baratheon in name, but he was doubly a Lannister.

“Guess what, Grandfather’s _dead_ ,” Joff said.  “He doesn’t care what we’re doing, because he’s _dead_.”  He pulled another antique ornament out of the box and then crushed it under his foot.  Cersei wiped her palms on her brown riding pants.  Maybe if she thought hard enough, a glass of wine would appear in her hand.  Maybe a whole fucking _bottle_ if she got lucky.  Whatever it would take to get her through this Christmas.

Genna shot Cersei a _Fix this_ look.

“Take me home.”

Cersei smoothed his hair the way she used to calm him when he was younger.  “We’ll go home as soon as Christmas is over.  Why don’t you go decorate cookies with Tommen and Myrcella?”

“I’m not doing anything with the _babies_ ,” he said, and as soon as he’d grabbed her wrist to shove her hand away, she slapped him hard across the face.  They both recoiled.  She’d never done anything like that before, as much as she might have wanted to.  Physical abuse was Robert’s domain.  Cersei stared at her offending hand like it had turned into a snake.  _Who are you?_

_I wish Father were here to tell me what he thought of that._

Joffrey stalked off without saying another word.

“I tried to raise you right,” Genna said after a long silence.  She wasn’t even _looking_ at Cersei, the bitch.  Her thick arms still moved to put ornaments on the tree.

“What do you mean?”

“After your mother died.  I tried to raise you the way I knew Tywin _wouldn’t_ ,” she said.  “But I suppose I didn’t do a good enough job, did I?”

 _Jaime, where’s Jaime?_ The world around Cersei turned red.  She imagined choking Genna, ripping the Christmas tree to shreds, burning Casterly down.  She and Jaime would stagger down the road to safety, turning around to watch their fucking _ancestral home_ burn to the ground.

 “It’s not my fault you’re a jealous old bitch,” Cersei said, hoping there was enough ice in her voice to hide all that _fire_ burning away at her.  “Finish this yourself.”

Cersei stomped down the hall to Father’s study, where it was quiet and dark.  Plus, the leather chairs made for great punching bags, and her fists were balled up and ready to go.  She knew just the spots to step in so the floor didn’t creak, but it creaked anyway as she walked.  _Casterly is getting old_.

She pushed open the door and covered her mouth, almost gagging at the scent of Tywin: his books, papers, the old sweater he kept in there, _everything_.  It took a few seconds for her to notice the music playing and the lamp shining a soft, fuzzy light in the corner.

 _Ave Maria, gratia plena_.

“Jaime?” she said.  Her twin stood at the French doors, staring out at the snowdrifts.

“What’s wrong, Cers?” he asked, without turning around.  “Do you need to come give me a punch or two?”  He whirled around, held out his arms.  “I can take it.”

She strode over, her heels sinking into the plush rug.  “Since when do you listen to Father’s music?”

“He told me last Christmas.  This was one of Mother’s favorite songs.  They’d listen to it together every year.”  Jaime draped his arm around her shoulders.  “He never would say anything about Mother ever, you know?  I figured this must have been important.”

“I hate them all,” Cersei said.  “Every fucking blonde Lannister.  They’re all so smug.  I don’t think they’re even mourning Father.  Am I right?”

Jaime kissed the top of her head.  _Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui._ “Cersei, think about it…What’s there to mourn?”

“What’s there to mourn?”  She stepped back.  First her hand betrayed her, and now Jaime--?  She wondered if it was too late to grab Joffrey and dig the car out of the snowdrifts and go home.  Casterly was haunted.

“He’s our _father._ And he was a great businessman.  Did you see how his colleagues were so—” Her head felt like it was spinning as she searched for the word.  “Reverent?  At the funeral?  They were afraid of him even when he was dead.  I want that.  He could have taught me so much.”

“Yeah?”  Jaime said.  His voice sounded sad.  But he _wasn’t_ sad.  “When was he going to do that, Cers?”  He took her in his arms and rubbed his forehead against hers.  She pushed him away.  Jaime was still such a kid.  He thought hugs and kisses made everything better.  “Anyway… he never let us be sad about Mom,” Jaime said.  “He deserves it.”  He started smoothing her hair back into a ponytail, running his other hand slowly down her front.  “If we shut the door,” he whispered, “no one will know we’re in here.”

Cersei stomped on his toe and pushed.  “Get away from me,” she hissed.  “You’re just like the rest of them.  I’m the only Lannister still alive.”

What happened next was automatic.  Cersei stormed back into the living room, grabbing a book of matches off the mantelpiece, and pushed the Christmas tree onto the floor.  It toppled easily.  The tree looked smaller than usual this year; even Lannisters were not recession-proof, apparently, and this made Cersei sadder, angrier.  _Father would have bought the biggest tree anyway_.

“Cersei,” said Jaime, at her side probably trying to figure out a way to touch her without making it look like he fucked her, “Cersei, what—”

“This holiday makes me sick,” Cersei said, and she began tugging the tree toward the front door.  Candy canes crunched under her feet; the true sound of a Christmas at Casterly.  The needles were getting stuck in her cashmere sweater, but it was not heavy to pull, and no one stopped her, _no one stopped her_.

 _Stand back_ , Kevan was saying, probably to Lancel, _give your cousin space_.

_They’re afraid of me, they’re all afraid of me._

Outside the air was cold but there was no wind and the moon reflected bright off the snow.  It was only a matter of lighting a match or two and tossing it onto the tree, antique ornaments and all.

“Cersei, come on.”  Only Jaime wasn’t afraid.  His footprints crunched over frozen snow and then he was by her side, his arm around her waist.   “What’d you do this for?”

“It’s what Father would have done, right?” Cersei said.  “If you don’t like something, change it.  Get rid of it.”

“You scared the kids.” 

_Our kids._

“Tommen is crying.”

“Aunt Genna said I was a bad mother,” Cersei said.  “I’m not.  You know that, right?  I’m _not_.”

Jaime looked like he was going to bend his face down to hers, but of course, he stopped.  She thought she heard everyone mumbling in the background, but everything seemed so far away…

“Merry Christmas, Cers,” he mumbled.  “They’re up there, huh?”

“Who?”

“Mother and Father,” he said.  “Laughing at this shitshow.  Or maybe laughing at us.”

Cersei crossed her arms against the cold, though the fire warmed her cheeks.   “They’re nowhere.  They’re _gone_ ,” she said.  “Don’t you remember what Father told me that one time.  Remember?  It’s all just a story people tell.”

 


End file.
